An Octogonal Gateway
by GrammarNazi28
Summary: Our world, the other world, and the worlds beyond were never supposed to meet. But years of unison between them have wiped this rule from existence. However, when the connections between the world begin to sever, can peoples from the different worlds save the worlds from falling into the Void forever?


**Author's Note and Disclaimer**

_This is the first chapter of my first fanfic. So... Disclaiming time!_

_The game this story is based on, 'Minecraft', is not in any part my property or creation. This story and I are not supported by or affiliated with Mojang AB or Microsoft Corporation. All Minecraft materials and content are trademarks and copyrights of Mojang AB or its licensors._

_So I pretty much don't own anything except for the non-Minecraft characters. Enjoy the story!_

_**C**__**hapter The First: An Insight Into The Worlds**_

**In a land far, far away…**

In a white hall of pure nether quartz stretching in two directions as continuously and endlessly as starlight, a hooded figure paces the floors.

It wears a simple brown hood, complete with a tattered brown robe and a brown cape with

Nearby lie several trinkets that might seem like a scavenger's hoard, if not for the immense power they emitted. A broken hourglass filled with ice. A grandfather clock with six hands. A fountain which water drips down from.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

The hooded figure turns and motions towards an empty glowstone frame.

"Come out. I know you're in there."

The frame fills with mystical, swirling blue oil and another hooded figure steps out.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

"Is he awake?"

"He has begun writing again."

"Even now?"

"As we speak."

"We knew this day would come."

"There is nothing we can do but hope."

"What about the Fire?"

"It still burns."

"Where are the Twins?"

"Hiding."

"We should alert the Talens soon."

"Patience, old friend. They will awaken soon. What they will make of this, I do not know. But we must wait. Only time will tell..."

Drip. Drip. Drip.

**In another land not as far away as the first one, but still pretty far away…**

One thing you should know is that I've always liked dimensions. Different dimensions for inspiration, seeking solace or just for fun. Today, a forested world seemed appropriate for the situation.

Deep in a forest with trees with leaves as green as paint and bark as brown as chocolate do I write. I'm sitting on a comfy, high-backed chair and the paper is still wet with ink. Two objects on my desk, a quill and an inkpot, are arguing.

"I say we call them the Supernaturals!"

"The Powered Ones!"

"That sounds like a boy band."

"Your's sounds like a TV show!"

"The Graced?"

"I think someone's already using that name."

"Please, keep quiet." I say to them. They both stare at me. "I'm trying to concentrate. What should I call myself this time?"

The fine, peacock-feathered quill bristles and the inkpot's black fluids splash.

"Lord Writer!"

"No, Great Author!"

"Keeper of Books?"

"Guardian of Knowledge?"

I interrupt them before they can continue. "What about the Watcher? You know, because I'm watching over them."

"Not bad," mutters the quill.

"I could live with that," answers the inkpot.

"Fine, then it's settled. I'm the Watcher and they're the Talens." Before they can reply, I pick up the quill and start to write, "_In a land we all know..._"

**In a land we all know…**

I stand on an small, empty, ruffled, dry purple plain, bordered by tall purple mountains. My feet are lighter than the pink cotton clouds that float aimlessly through this world and I can barely feel gravity's hold on me.

Suddenly, the purple turns to a violent jet black and the clouds that were once docile and sleepy are now vicious and fast. They tear at my face, my limbs, any exposed flesh, and shred it with their sharp lightning bolt fangs.

Screaming, I am pulled over the mountains and down into the salmon-coloured void surrounding the island. Further and further down, until the salmon is darker than a greased crow flying through a pitch-black night.

Two pinpoints of light prick through the abyss and focus on me. Twin beams fire from the pinpoints and fixate on me.

"DESIREE, CHILD OF DESTINY." Low, echoey and… powerful. More powerful than anything I've ever heard and ever will. Something I know the second I stare into those powerful lights.

"FROM THE MOUNTAINS OF SILVERSNOW,"

"BRING BACK THE BONE KING'S BOW"

"FROM BLACKMIRROR'S STONY TOWER"

"BRING BACK SIGN OF THE FIRE'S POWER"

"FROM DEEP IN VINEDARK"

"BRING BACK NOTCH'S ARK"

"FROM THE DEPTHS OF PIT SCAR"

"BRING BACK THE UNDER STAR"

"FROM THE ZENITH OF EVERLIGHT"

"BRING BACK THE CELESTIAL BRIGHT"

Oh. My...

The alarm clock bursts into shrill, irritating ringing. Oh phew, just another dream. Just another dream. The same one as the one going on for five weeks. All clearly, vividly stating a mysterious prophecy. Nothing strange about that at all.

"Girl!" screeches a shrill voice from downstairs. Groaning, I lift my self out of my bed and slowly trudge down the worn plastic steps.

In the kitchen cum dining room, Aunt Portia is sitting on her high-backed chair, imperiously glaring down the length of her pointy nose. Witch.

"What're you waiting for, stupid child? Go make me breakfast!"

Witch. She always calls us that. Stupid children, rats' spawn, girl or boy. Never Desiree and Alex.

I slowly walk to the stove. I slowly turn on the gas and stare into the flames thinking about how much I hate her. A thread falls from the bare cabinet above into the flames. I watch as they sift through it, like water through a sieve. Black spreads across the white like a plague across the land.

How I wish that would happen to Aunt Portia.

Alex comes down the stairs and joins me by the stove. His black hair sticking crazily in all directions and red-rimmed eyes are sign of yet another sleepless night.

"Nightmares again?" I whisper, when Aunt Portia is on the phone with one of her ghastly friends. He nods. Ever since the car crash, he's been experiencing vivid flashbacks. They plague him at night and wear him out at day.

"You can't go on like this," I whisper to him. We both glance at Aunt Portia. I know there's no way she'll 'waste money' on taking him to 'some fancy-schmancy doctor'. Her homemade 'remedies' won't make a dent in him.

The shrill ring of the house phone interrupts our conversation and I rush to answer it, hoping and dreading the answer.

"Hello, is this Portia Surdon?"

"No, it's her niece, Desiree Halo."

"Oh, Ms Halo, your mother is in a stable condition. You may come and visit her now."

My heart skips a beat.

"Really?"

"Yes, of course. Of course, you'll need the ward. It's Y2K."

"Thank you so much!"

I timidly approach Aunt Portia.

"Mum's better now, can we please visit her?"

Aunt Portia looks at me like I've suggested we bathe in scorpions.

"Absolutely not."

"But why? She's your SISTER! Surely you want to know how she is!"

"Listen, if the court didn't make me do this, I'd have thrown you two onto the streets. Now shut up and get changed, stupid girl."

Suddenly, I feel very angry. The rage that I've been feeling ever since that fateful phone call is threatening to spill out my mouth. Steam billows from my ears, my fingernails dig deep into skin and my eyes burn deep into Aunt Portia's pitch-black soul, as if I could brand her with my anger forever and see what it was like to lose something so precious to you…

Then she just changes. As if my desires had been forced upon her.

"Of course we can go to the Hospital, Desiree dear. Come, I'll drive you two there and afterwards, I'll buy you chocolates!"

What. Just. Happened?


End file.
